


It's That Time of Year

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Christmas, First Time, Holidays, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can a torn friendship be repaired?  'Tis the season for miracles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's That Time of Year

**Author's Note:**

> Jim and Blair—still going strong after all these years. Thank God. Thank you to Delilah for the beta and to the wonderful Gershwhen (Happy Birthday!) for coming up with the perfect song for this story and, thus, the title.  
> I have a tradition now—no matter what, I have to do a holiday TS story. This one is very simple compared to past stories.

 

 

**It's That Time of Year by alyjude**

 

_"Frosted windowpanes, candles gleaming inside_... _"_

 

He had never physically run from anything in his life. Until last year.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel as he slowed to a stop in front of 852 Prospect. He ducked his head to look out the passenger side window-and found one light on in the apartment that mattered.

Someone was home.

A wry grin split his face. Not 'someone'-just _the_ one. The important one.

He could do what he'd come here to do, or he could run again. Funny how he'd been full of resolve when he'd left Mexico. Committed to returning to the scene of his crime, girded to face the man he'd left behind, the man he'd run out on; even if it had been for his own good.

Funny how that resolve was now on the wane.

It would be so easy to run again, too. No one knew he was here; no one would know if he went back.

Except him.

But hell, once a coward-well, it was pretty easy to put that suit on again; the one with the yellow stripe running down the back.

He closed his eyes in surrender. There was no way he could face... just no way.

_Mexico, here I come,_ he thought.

Checking the left side mirror, he waited for the traffic to clear so that he could move back into the flow. While waiting, he glanced back, one final time, and something caught his attention-something that he'd missed before. The only unadorned windows, windows with no sign of the holiday, were the ones belonging to number three-o-seven. It seemed so completely wrong that he unconsciously flipped his signal off and turned off the ignition. As the Cascade cold slowly crept into the rental car, he stared up at what now appeared to be the very forlorn windows of what had once been home.

The outer façade of the loft seemed so empty compared to the windows around it. Colorful holiday lights acted as trim, and green wreaths adorned the sparkling panes of the neighboring apartments. Hell, even the lobby door had a wreath to welcome visitors and residents alike.

Slowly he got out and walked around to the sidewalk. For several moments he stared up at the bare windows, and the single interior light. It gave off no warmth and spoke only of a dark loneliness.

This wasn't supposed to be the way it turned out for the lone man in the apartment. Hadn't he left to keep just this very thing from happening? Hadn't he?  The truth stared him in the face. A truth that said there'd been... other reasons for his exodus.

Like the fact that he'd found himself unable to face the future, unable to handle the sacrifice and all that it would ultimately mean. And, finally, he'd been unable to forgive himself for the part he'd played in the whole dissertation fiasco, and the future it was destined to provide for his partner. So he'd run; assuming that it would mean freedom for the man he'd hurt.

In the last several months, he'd come to realize that he'd also been running away from his heart-and what he'd discovered hiding in the darkest recesses of it.

Love.

The kind men died for-and killed for... and wrote sappy songs about.

That kind of love.

But the thought that such a deep feeling could be returned after what he'd done was just too outlandish to consider, so running away took on an even greater shine.

But now, looking up at balcony all these months later, he could see just how wrong he'd been. He knew by the truck, which was parked in its usual spot, that nothing else had changed.  But the fact that there was nothing of the holiday for number three-oh-seven told him that everything was, indeed, different.

It was time to go up and face the music.  And maybe... just maybe... make things right.

 

*****

 

God, even the smell was the same. The cooking odors, the age of the building, the furnace in the basement, all of it, just like when he'd left. He rode the elevator up to the third floor and when the door slid open, he stepped out and turned left. A moment later he was facing the loft.

His heart was pounding so hard, he was afraid he was about to pull an Alien moment. It would be nice if he could lift his arm high enough to knock on the front door, but unfortunately, it seemed that he was paralyzed. Maybe he could use his head.

There were no sounds coming from inside-and that worried him too. Enough so that he managed to finally move and knock.

Nothing happened.

He knocked again, harder this time.

Ah, there we go. Footsteps.

A moment later, the door-the wreathless door-was flung open.

Two sets of blue eyes blinked and stared.

To Jim, Blair had never looked more beautiful. He stood in the doorway, hair down and loose, eyes wide behind the black, thin-wired glasses. He was wearing a Cascade PD sweatshirt, the blue one with the gold lettering, and a pair of well-worn jeans. No shoes, but argyle socks. In his left hand, he held a beer and his right hand... Blair's right arm was in a sling.

With so many things to say, Jim was amazed when he slowly reached out and touched the sling as he asked in a husky voice, "What happened?"

Eyes on Jim's face, Blair said, "Bullet."

The shock of that one word seemed to freeze the moment. Jim felt all the color drain from his face as he stared at his friend.

"Are you visiting, home to stay, or just dropping by to see the wreck you left behind?"

Blair's questions freed Jim from the strange stasis he'd seemed to enter when he'd heard the word 'bullet'. He waved a hand and said, "Can I come in?"

"It's your home, man."

"No, I left it to you."

"Get your ass in here, Jim."

Jim stepped over the threshold and Blair shut the door behind him.

 

*****

 

The loft looked... different.

Less.

Okay, austere.

Much of the color that had given it warmth was now missing. Afghans and pillows were gone, and the walls were once again an off-white. But what shocked him the most was that when he pivoted around and faced the door, he found that Blair had removed the red heron poster. The door was now the same off-white as the rest of the loft.

"Yeah, I made some changes. Get over it. If you're home, you can do what you want, and if you're not, then this is how it stays."

The words, and Blair's tone, were so cool and matter-of-fact that Jim was rendered speechless.

Blair walked over to the couch and sat down. From the looks of things, he'd been reading. A book was open and face down on the table next to the coaster the beer had obviously been resting on. There were also some manila folders, a legal pad and a pen. By the insignia on the folders-the Cascade PD emblem-it appeared that Blair had brought work home.

Which meant that in spite of everything-Blair had become a cop.

The very thing Jim had tried to keep from happening. The primary reason for his running away.

He walked over to the French doors and peered inside.

"That's my room, Jim. Do you mind?"

"Your room? Why wouldn't you move upstairs?"

"Wolves prefer dens. Nice cozy dens. If you want something to drink, you know where it is."

Jim's world had been turned on its axis. He went for the drink, but not beer. He checked the liquor cupboard and was very happy to find the bottle of Jim Beam. He took it down, got a glass-from the wrong cupboard-added some ice, and took bottle and glass to the living room. He chose the other couch and sat down. He opened the bottle, poured a shot, and downed it. He was just pouring a second shot when Blair spoke up.

"Why are you here?"

"Why do you have a bullet in you?" Jim countered.

"Well, duh. I got shot. Hello?"

"Funny, observers who no longer have partners to observe, let alone a reason, don't usually get shot. Hello?"

"Funny, I haven't _been_ an observer, nor have I had a _partner_ since nineteen ninety-nine."

Heart in his throat, Jim said, "Tell me you didn't do it. Tell me you didn't become a cop."

"I didn't become a cop."

"Then how the fuck did you get shot?"

"Chasing a suspect. Some rookie failed to cover the back of Chuck's Pool Hall and the second suspect got out and ambushed me."

"Gee, Sandburg, that sounds like cop-speak to me. Tell me again you're not a cop."

"I didn't become a cop."

Jim shot up out of his seat. "God damn it, you DID become a cop!"

"And this from the man who once said," he struck a 'Jim' pose and intoned in a remarkable imitation, "You might have been just an observer, but you were the best cop I've ever met and the best partner I could have ever asked for. You've been a great friend and you've pulled me through some pretty weird stuff."

"Wow, I think that was word for word, Chief."

"Don't call me that, Jim. Don't ever call me that again. I'm not your chief, your partner, or anything else."

Jim was beginning to doubt his sanity, let alone the wisdom of 'coming home' again. And he was just beginning to understand the depth of pain he'd caused Blair when he'd left.  Suddenly he wrinkled his nose as a smell drifted in. He looked toward the door and said, "Simon's on his way up."

"Fuck, that man just can't leave well enough alone. I swear, he's the mother hen of all mother hens." Blair got up and walked to the door.

"Now," Jim said.

Blair pulled the door open.  "Hi, Simon, and yes, I'm still fine. Haven't you anything better to do than check up on me?"

"Tons, but here I am. Can I come in?"

"I don't know if that's a wise idea, considering what you told me you'd do if you ever saw Jim again. But hey, you're not packing, so join the party." He stepped aside and let Simon in.

Jim got to his feet and smiled wryly. "Hey, Simon. Long time, no see."

Simon, a dusting of snow on the shoulders of his long dark coat, stared at his old friend. He exhaled and said, "Oh, fuck."

 

*****

 

Blair looked at Jim, who was staring into his third drink, and then at Simon, who was staring at Jim. _My, this holiday really is shaping up,_ he thought dryly. Shaping up into what, he had no clue.

Funny how looking at Jim did nothing. Shouldn't he be feeling something? Anything? Shouldn't his gut be wrenching, his heart clenching, or at least his libido be doing cartwheels? Why was he still in the same black hole he'd been living in for the last six months?

Because Jim wasn't staying.

Okay, so maybe it was time _he_ moved on. Yeah, that would work. Join Mom in... where was she again? Oh, who the hell cared. She was somewhere, he'd be somewhere, and Jim would be in Cascade. In fact, why not go now? Now would be a good time.

He rose to his feet and, when both Jim and Simon looked up, said, "Be right back, guys. Just go on doing whatever the hell it is you're doing."

Blair walked into his room and closed the door.

 

*****

 

When the French door shut, Simon turned on Jim. "Nine months, Ellison. You left him and not one word for nine months. Do you have any clue what that did to him?"

"He's a cop," Jim said right before downing the rest of his drink.

"He's a mini-me of you. Hard-ass doesn't begin to cover it. Look around you. Do you like what you see?"

"No."

"Well, there you go. He looked for you for three months. Tried everything. And when he failed, he locked himself up, closed down, and what you see tonight, is what we've lived with for six months. You might as well have put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. It would have been more merciful."

"I'm getting the distinct impression that you think my leaving was not a good thing."

"Funny, Ellison. Very funny. Why the hell _did_ you leave? Wasn't his press conference enough sackcloth and ashes for you?"

"Simon, I left _for_ him. I figured the only way to protect him, to make sure he didn't get sucked into being what he didn't want to be, was to leave-walk out. I was so damn sure he'd... he'd...."

"What? Miraculously get his doctorate? Become the world's greatest anthropologist? Or maybe... maybe become a bartender, or a sales clerk, perhaps?"

"I don't know," Jim said almost desperately. "I just thought -"

"Wrong. Thinking played no part in your decision, Jim. Never did, never will."

The French doors opened and Blair, a bag slung over his shoulder, stepped out. He smiled and gave a two-fingered wave.

"Guys, it's been fun, but now that Jim's back, I'm going to hit the road. Simon, thanks for everything and here's my gun and stuff." He set a package down on the dining room table and started for the door.

"Hold it right there, Sandburg. You don't get out of this so easily. You're my employee now and I went through more hoops than you can possibly imagine to _get_ you to this point. There is no way in hell you're walking out on me now. You got that? You owe me, Sandburg."

That seemed to work as Blair frowned in disbelief. Jim quickly stood and said, "Look, it was wrong of me to show up like this. I should have... called, or-"

"Written? Emailed? Sent a note by carrier pigeon?" Blair said sarcastically.

"Uhm, yeah. Anyway, I'll leave," he said as he carried the Jim Beam and empty glass back into the kitchen. He futzed around a bit, feeling strangely reluctant to walk out now that he'd decided to do just that.

Simon's words rushed back to him- _Thinking played no part in your decision. Never did, never will._

Okay, so maybe it was time to do some thinking. The real kind. The kind where you looked deep inside yourself and found answers and hope and solutions-along with the truth.

Absently, he walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He wasn't aware of the strange looks that passed between Blair and Simon, wasn't aware of the fact that Blair had put his bag on the floor and was now staring at him, open-mouthed.

Simon moved over to the table and put his hand on Jim's shoulder. When there was no reaction, he looked over at Blair and asked, "Is he zoning?"

"Does he look moronic to you?" Blair asked sarcastically.

"No, he looks... normal, other than not all that responsive."

"Then he's not zoning."

 

*****

 

"Okay," Simon said after fifteen minutes, "this is officially weird."

Blair glanced up from the legal pad and said, "Duh." He went back to work.

"What the hell are you doing, Sandburg?"

"It's called work. I'm feeling guilty. If I'm going to leave you in the lurch, I sure as hell shouldn't do it without finishing all this damn busy work you gave me to make me feel needed."

"Did your mother ever accuse you of being a brat?"

"No. I was always her angel."

"Well, you're a brat now."

"I'm thirty, Simon. You can't be a brat at thirty."

"Guess again."

Blair looked up and stuck out his tongue.

"That was mature, Sandburg."

Without looking up, Blair made a yapping motion with his hand.

"Okay, Blair, this is how it went down," Jim said out of the clear blue.

Blair nearly jumped a foot and the pad flew across the room. Getting up to retrieve it, Blair said, "He speaks. Gee whiz."

"Would you just get your ass over here and let me talk?"

"Give me one good reason why I should?"

"Because I'm an asshole, a jerk, and I never learn, but maybe, just maybe, it's finally happening. And because I love you."

Jim had spoken softly; his gaze focused on Blair as if the younger man were the only person in the world. Now he waited.

Blair worried his bottom lip as he regarded Jim, who hadn't even blinked. Finally he slowly moved to the table and, with a quizzical look, sat down. Only then did Jim break eye contact to look at Simon. "You can stay, Simon."

Simon was tempted to respond with something smart, but the open and vulnerable look on Jim's face stopped him. He found himself simply nodding instead.

Jim clasped his hands together and, looking back at Blair, said, "When we got home, after the whole badge tossing thing, I watched you and Naomi, and yes, listened to the two of you talking.  I realized what I'd done by not trusting you and by not working together, as the friends and partners that we were, to get through what happened. I forced you into an untenable position, and the end result was that you were about to do the one thing I knew and your mom knew-or thought we knew-that you didn't want to do; become a cop."

He paused, grateful that no one had interrupted him yet. He thought of the Jim Beam behind him... but took a deep breath instead.

"I tried to work through everything Blair-I _did_. But all I could see was you as a cop, using a gun, and becoming someone you were never meant to be-and nothing like what you'd been working toward for years. I figured the only way I could keep that from happening was to leave. After all, with me gone, there'd be no reason for you to accept the badge. You hadn't actually turned in the dissertation, so I figured that, eventually, you'd go back to anthropology." He took a deep breath and added, "I also discovered that I had feelings for you that went beyond friendship-deep feelings. Which is why I came back. I'm not sure what I planned to do once I got here, I only knew that once I figured out how I felt, I needed-desperately needed-to see you again."

He stopped, finally done, and waited. Was there anything else he should have said, should still say? Yes.

"I can't promise that if I get a second-or would this be the fifth-chance, I won't do something stupid and pretty much unforgivable again. In fact, it's kind of a done deal that I will. I can't even promise that I won't take off again-"

He stopped mid-sentence as he locked gazes with Blair. He stared into the incredible blue depths of his partner's eyes and another great truth hit him. He wasn't aware of a softening of his features, or how, at that moment, he seemed almost transformed as he whispered, "Yes, I can. That's the one thing I can promise, Blair. I will never leave you again, in any way. That would be," his gaze swept over Blair's face, "a complete impossibility."

Simon, caught in the moment, found himself supremely embarrassed, and yet... oddly happy. He was also starting to feel like a third wheel. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. When neither man took notice, Simon gave a light cough and said, "Yes... well. I'm out of here. Sandburg, take the next few days off. You and desk duty don't mix. Ellison, while you exceeded your leave of absence, I figure I can take care of that. I expect to see you both on December-scratch that. Make it January third. Eight sharp. Merry Christmas."

He pulled a cigar out of his case, stuck it in his mouth, and walked out of number three- oh-seven, shutting the door very quietly behind him. He took the elevator to the ground floor and, once out on the sidewalk, lit up his cigar. Supremely confident that his world was once again about to right itself, he headed toward his car.

 

*****

 

Jim was still staring at Blair as he asked, "Did Simon say... leave of absence?"

Blair nodded. "He couldn't bring himself to terminate you. He was positive you'd come hom- back."

"And... you? Were you positive I'd come... back?"

His gaze steadfast, Blair said, "Not after the first three months. For ninety days I imagined I heard your footsteps outside the door.  Was positive I could smell your aftershave, hear your voice telling me to pick the wet towels up off the floor and 'don't you dare put tofu in my lasagna'. But of course it was never your aftershave or footsteps or anything else. I finally figured out that what I'd done could never be forgiven, and that you'd come to realize that the only way you could get some semblance of a life back was to start over where no one knew who you were."

Blair finally looked away. He got up and went to the fridge, where he pulled a beer out. He unscrewed the top and took a large swig. Resting back against the refrigerator, he said, "I don't know why I stayed, except to prove something-to someone. Maybe to myself. When you left, I didn't know who I was. No one to observe, to back up, to... help. No school to hurry off to, no miracle of a sentinel to take up my waking-and dreaming-moments. No Cascade PD, no reports to fake out, no Simon to drive crazy, no one to cook healthy meals for, or to share the Jags with, or... oh, hell, you get my drift."

He took another swig, swallowed, and said, "I knew my name, but that was it. I toyed briefly with connecting with Mom, but then I'd be 'Naomi's son, Blair', so I trashed that idea. One night, about ten weeks after your... departure, I got drunk. Really drunk. Not the falling-down kind, or the throw-up-and-pass-out kind, but the dark, dwelling-in-depression kind. That's when I trashed this place. And I mean 'trash'. I tossed everything, cursing your name every minute. I walked to the hardware store and bought paint and by six-thirty the next morning, the loft looked like this," he waved his arm around, "and _then_ I was throwing up."

Jim rubbed his eyes and then his right temple. "God, Blair, all I wanted to do was to free you."

"Hey, _I'm_ the one who had the identity crisis, Jim. That wasn't your fault. Leaving me, running away, _that_ was your fault. Your stupid-assed fault. But you couldn't know that you'd be leaving a rudderless idiot behind. You couldn't have guessed how much of myself I'd poured into your life." He smiled wryly. "You should have, you being the great detective and all, but you didn't."

"Then why the hell did you become a cop? Why did you do it, Blair?"

Blair looked thoughtfully down at the bottle in his hand and said, "You know, I meant it that night in the truck when we going after Janet. School was a merry-go-round, Jim. Hell, even expeditions were just a faster type of carousel. Do you have any idea of what I gave up when I turned Stoddard down on Borneo? And I didn't even _care_. Do you get that? I went to bed that night and didn't even _think_ about it. Not once in the ensuing days did I stop and say to myself, 'I could be getting ready for Borneo,' or 'Stoddard and I would be on the plane now'. That's kind of a big clue that you've changed the direction of your life, you know?"

Jim got up and joined Blair in the kitchen, resting his own back against the range. "How is that different from submitting yourself to my life? To losing yourself in someone else?"

"It's very different, Jim. I was _enjoying_ myself. Doing something that _I_ felt was important." He set the beer down and pushed away from the counter to face Jim. "My mother has been telling me who I was my whole life. You _left_ as a way to tell me who I was and once you were gone, Simon took over. Everyone seems to think they know who I am, what I should be. Did I ever, even once, appear to be a normal anthropologist to you, Jim?"

Jim grinned. "You were never normal in any manner, Blair."

"Yeah, well, guess what? I'm not a normal cop either. In fact... I'm no, actually, a cop."

Jim looked over his shoulder at the gun and badge that still took front and center on the dining room table. "That looks pretty official to me, Chief." He glanced back at Blair and added quickly, "Sorry, that just... slipped out."

Blair nodded absently as he walked over to the table and picked up his badge. He stared at it a moment before flipping it over and pulling out his ID, which he'd tucked under the back flap. He walked into the kitchen and handed the ID to Jim.

Jim looked at it-and looked again. "This says... consultant."

"Yeah. I took the weapons training at the Academy-which, by the way, was a hoot. I take classes at night over at the Federal Building-well, not now because of the holidays-but come January and I'll be back in class. Eventually, I'll be the official profiler for Major Crime."

Suddenly Jim smiled. "You were obfuscating about how you got shot, weren't you?"

For the first time since Jim walked into the loft, Blair gave him a real smile. A smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit him up from the inside out.

"Maybe a little....  Okay, a lot."

"So, no Chuck's pool hall? No ambush?"

"Nah. I just didn't duck when Megan yelled for me to get down. We were closing in on a serial killer and he kind of decided to go out in a blaze of glory."

"Oh, Jesus. _Jesus_ , Blair!"

"Hey, I thought the whole pool hall thing sounded way grittier, you know?"

Jim moved in close and leaned down into Blair's space, his nose inches from Blair's; his eyes glaring. "And less dangerous?"

"No-o, just more... you know, cop-like?" Blair said hopefully. Then he got close enough to Jim that their noses actually touched and glared right back. "And no one tells me to stay in the truck- _no one_!" He leaned away and sighed. "Okay, they tell me to stay down, and yes... all right, to stay back, but they _don't_ tell me to stay in the car. Not anymore."

Jim straightened up and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. "God, Blair. A fucking serial killer?" Then a note of curiosity entered his tone as he asked a bit too eagerly, "Did he go out in his blaze of glory?"

Looking suddenly sheepish, Blair said, "Oh, uhm, that would be a no. He was taken down by a... well, someone threw-something-at him, and took him down. Kind of. Sort of."

Now it was Jim's turn to narrow his eyes. "Blair?"

"Okay, okay, so I had this cue ball in my jacket pocket and people were going to get killed or hurt or both if the guy did the whole Newman-Redford thing, so I stood up and threw the ball at him."

"That's how you got shot, isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

When Blair didn't answer, Jim shook his head. "You are a piece of work, Sandburg. You could have been killed, damn it."

"Yeah, that's true. And then, when you came home, you'd have found this place empty, and you'd have checked in with Simon, and he'd have taken you to some cliff somewhere and shown you the spot where Naomi scattered my ashes. BUT, unbeknownst to you, I would have instructed her to hide some of them between your mattress and box spring so that I could haunt the fuck out you. Oh, and by the way, I could have been killed a hundred times in the last four years, you dickwad. A hundred times. So what? You could have been killed five hundred times, and you'd have left me behind and it would have killed me."

Jim couldn't stand any longer. If he didn't sit down, he'd fall down. He managed to stumble over to the couch and sink into the cushions. Putting his head in his hands, he mumbled, "How did we get in so deep, Blair? So deep that we could hurt each other so completely, misunderstand so thoroughly?"

"Speak for yourself, Jim."

"What, you're not in deep?"

"Oh, I'm in so deep that I'll never see that light at the end of the tunnel, but I never deliberately hurt you and I've always understood you." Blair walked over and sat down on the couch opposite. "I even understand why you left and how you're fooling yourself into thinking that it was for me."

Jim raised his head. "Blair, the one thing I do know is that I truly believed that if I left-"

"You were running from yourself, Jim. And you were running from us. From what our partnership really means. Don't you get it, even now? The sacrifice I made was for _you_ , but it was also for my sentinel. Because the whole sentinel thing is us, it's who we are-who _we_ are. I'm a part of it too; we're a team, bookends. I don't think you can be a sentinel without me, and I want to be your backup more than anything.

"Yes, you were a dream come true, but so was working with you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We were important, and what we did together was important. We can make an incredible difference, hell, we _made_ an incredible difference, and it was exciting... and you never got it." He shook his head as if he still couldn't believe that Jim could miss something so simple. He got up and started to pace.

"You're this amazing man, with a heart and mind to match, and as far as I know, you're the _only_ urban sentinel in the world, and you never understood how jazzed I was to be of any kind of help to you, let alone the unbelievable honor involved with actually working with you. There were days when I'd rush through my work at the university in order to get to the station and see what was up and what we would be working on. I'd walk in and people would pass me and I'd be thinking, 'Upstairs-Jim is upstairs and these people have no idea how great he is and that he's protecting them'."

Suddenly Blair grinned-an amazingly shy grin-as he said, "I know, I know, I sound idiotic, but it's like... knowing Superman's alter ego and being the only person who does-if you don't count all of Major Crime, of course. And Mom. And Simon."

When silence ensued, Jim realized that Blair had stopped pacing and was simply standing in the middle of the room. He suspected he'd just witnessed more emotion from Blair than anyone else had for the last nine months. For his part, he was shocked. And scared. And it must have shown because Blair nodded as if to himself and said, "That's what was wrong, wasn't it? The responsibility of being who you were. And I never helped with that, did I?"

"It wasn't your job to help me deal, Blair, and I... accepted the responsibility in Peru, when we went after Simon-"

"Yeah, and junked it after you nearly shot that security guard," Blair interjected. "You only accepted your senses back in order to stop the people who'd killed Incacha. You never accepted anything Incacha tried to teach you with Alex, and I'm not blaming you. I mean, hell, the burden has to be unbelievable. Who am I to judge what I can never fully understand?"

Blair's expression changed like quicksilver as he ran a suddenly nervous hand through his hair after pulling out the hair tie. He stood up and started to pace and it didn't take long for voice and hands to begin to speak.

"Man, I've been so angry for so long; and I'm not used to that kind of anger.  So I bottled it-and every other emotion-and buried them so deep, that right now, I'm in trouble.   Because all this talking is bringing them to the surface like some kind of slow-boiling volcano, but it's not so slow-boiling at the moment-"

Jim was up and by Blair's side in an instant. He could see the panic attack building and did the only thing he could; he took Blair into his arms and held tight, his own panic only a step behind Blair's.

They stood like that, arms wrapped around each other, for what seemed like forever. Eyes tightly shut, each fought the battle and gradually allowed the heat and warmth of the other to assist in lifting the fright and panic. The longer they held, the calmer both became.

Eventually, Blair mumbled, his face pressed into Jim's chest, "This is ridiculous."

"And here I was just thinking I've never felt so comfortable or right," Jim said with a smile.

"How right?" Blair asked as he twisted his head around and looked up, curious.

"I'm thinking it's so right that Super Glue is looking good in order to maintain the feeling." He brought his hand up and slipped it into Blair's hair. "Will you forgive me, Blair? Let me come home?"

Blair could feel himself let go. He was floating on emotions-good emotions, _wonderful_ emotions-but the idea of forgiveness seemed... wrong. He looked at Jim as he said, "We _both_ screwed up, man. Let's just start over... all right?"

"Sandburg, it's been almost four years and we're this close," he demonstrated how close by sliding his other hand down to Blair's ass and squeezing, "to finally consummating this relationship.  So if you think I'm starting over now, you're crazy."

"Well, I didn't mean that kind of starting over. I'm kind of anxious to take this to the next level myself. I was simply referring to the past. Let bygones be bygones, forget about the assholeness of our previous relationship and concentrate on the ass-"

Jim started laughing as he choked out, "...the assholeness of our future relationship?"

"That's the direction I was heading, yeah."

Jim searched the handsome face;  looked deep, used his senses. He saw truth and love and acceptance, the kind Jim had been looking for all of his life, shining from Blair's eyes. He could feel the steady thrum of Blair's heart, the warmth of Blair's skin; all telling him that Blair really did accept him-accepted this. The last nine months would be relegated to a part of Sandburg that would never be called forth again. No recriminations, no blame.

This was the man that was his partner.

 

*****

 

_"It's that time of year, when the world falls in love..."_  

Jim smiled dreamily. His body was still tingling and feeling every moment of his recent lovemaking. When he'd left Mexico, he'd no idea-let alone hope-that his return would end like this.

Blair's hair was tickling him in a slow, playful kind of way, and his breath against sentinel-sensitive skin was soothing. Blair was awake and making soft, satisfied sounds as he rubbed his hand across Jim's chest. Jim turned his head and looked at his room; the one spot in the loft that Blair had left alone. It was a testament to the fact that Blair, in the deepest part of his most optimistic soul, had believed in Jim's return.

Thinking of the loft, and its current barren state, he lowered his head and whispered into Blair's hair, "How do you feel about doing a bit of decorating tomorrow? Christmas is only five days away. And isn't tomorrow night the first night-"

"Yes," Blair said simply.

"I didn't see your menorah, Blair."

"I can put it up tomorrow."

Resting his head back against the pillow, Jim stared up at the skylight and said, "Would you have-"

"It doesn't matter, Jim. You're here now and we're okay. And I think doing some decorating would be cool. And some shopping, if you know what I mean."

Jim could feel Blair's smile and he matched it. "Somehow I knew shopping would come up."

 

*****

 

The loft was looking warmer now that the holiday decorations were up. Jim was highly satisfied and, judging by the dreamy look on Blair's face, so was he. Although Jim suspected that part of the joy in the loft was the fact that they'd made love between bouts of decorating; and thus had anointed just about every item of furniture and appliance in the place. Now, with jackets on, they were ready to mount an assault on the mall.

As they rode the elevator down to the lobby, Jim marveled at how quickly they'd slipped back into their old, comfortable ways-with a few new ways added. They'd moved around the loft easily; talk unnecessary as they decorated. They'd made breakfast as a single unit; laughing and stealing kisses and gropes as they fixed eggs, toast and sausage. They ate and smiled; smiled and ate. They cleaned up just as smoothly as ever; but loving touches and playful bumping were added into the mix. The darkness that had haunted Blair's eyes was gone, and the loneliness in Jim's soul was equally absent.

Could it really be this easy? He glanced down at the man at his side and gave a mental shake of his head.

No. But they'd started. Made a good start. Time would prove to Blair that he'd really learned, had changed. That he trusted Blair. And truth be told, he was willing to prove it for the next fifty years.

 

*****

 

"You took good care of the truck, Blair."

"Of course. Did you think I'd let it rot?"

They dumped the rest of the packages and climbed in. It had started to snow, and as Jim turned up the heater, he said, "No, but your luck with cars-"

"Which one of us went through three vehicles in three years?"

"Yes, well." He grinned as he pulled out into traffic and said, "Anyway, sorry about the Volvo."

"It served humanity well, enjoyed many good years, and died peacefully."

"Amen," Jim said with a grin.

They both chuckled and shared a look that moved from amused to tender to... smoldering.

Jim got them home damned quickly considering the traffic and the snow.

Once parked, both men jumped out and grabbed the bags; their goal to get upstairs, naked, and in bed as quickly as possible. Their rush wasn't because their relationship was new and the sex still wonderfully exploratory, although that was true.  Rather, recognizing how they nearly missed having the relationship _at all_ made each moment they _hadn't_ missed worth celebrating.

They raced each other across the street, laughing freely, snow gathering in Blair's curls and on Jim's lashes. They would have kept going, Blair in the lead, if not for the group of singers gathered in front of Colette's. They were all dressed in turn-of-the-century clothing and were singing carols; their voices blended and beautiful. Colette's decorated storefront window provided a charming backdrop, and both Jim and Blair found themselves stopping on the sidewalk to listen.

Bodies touching, Jim and Blair stood close and listened to the group sing 'The Christmas Waltz'. With the right half of his body slightly in front of Blair's, Jim was able to take Blair's hand and they held tight, fingers laced, as the voices swirled around them. The snow continued its lazy way down, and Jim sent up a prayer of thankfulness for the man at his side.

He didn't know what the future would hold, how things would be once they were both back at Major Crime, but at that moment, he knew his love was tangible, strong and sure. It beat inside of him, filling his soul with a calmness he'd never before experienced. Blair was truly his other half and he knew that he'd do whatever it took to keep the best half of himself.

 

End  

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1246>


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